I had been living in Ohtawara-shi, Tochigi-ken for about three days back in the summer of 1990. Freshly arrived from Toronto on the JET (Japan Exchange & Teaching) Programme, one day after arriving in my new home - escorted by my two bosses Kanemaru-san and Hanazaki-san... I spent the first day wondering just what the hell I had gotten myself into.
I was a simple guy... 25 years of age... virginal in body but not mind... having never left home before, as both university and college where I received seven years of post-secondary education (we also do Grade 13 here in Toronto, until a few years ago), was nearby... I was spoiled... never having learned to do anything more than change a lightbulb or fill up a gastank in my car... though I did shovel all the neighbors' driveways of snow in the winter and cut their lawns when the snows melted...but I had never learned to cook, do laundry, iron, sew, or god help me, even to shop for my own food.
Oh, how the mighty race of man has fallen with the advent of the miscreant that is me. From noble hunter-gatherer to someone who knows how to do neither.
But I could communicate. If I had one gift on this big, blue marble it was that I had the gift of gab without having ever kissed the Blarney Stone in Ireland... and I could also make others feel comfortable enough to talk with me. It's not a bad gift, I suppose.
On my second day, Hanazaki-san, armed with three women women from the Ohtawara Board of Education where my office was, came and took me out to the local department/grocery store.. a superstore, if you will, that was like what Walmart is doing nowadays, but somehow not as gaudy. To be honest... it was similar to the old Woolco stores near my home in Toronto... so at least there was an aura of familiarity about it.
Yes I had given up a job with the Toronto Star newspaper to come to Japan, but I was not hardly the brave world-traveler I had read of in the books of my youth. No... I was afraid. Afraid of making a mistake and looking like a complete idiot to the people of Ohtawara and Japan... because my job was to teach them English.
That's what I thought, of course. I later learned it was more about internationalization... to teach them that they were just as wacky and nice as other people's of the world... that neither of us is superior to the other. But... that's not what I thought my job was about a mere five days into the country (Three in Tokyo before heading to my new homebase).
So... while Hanazaki-san held the purse-strings, the women helped me shop. Only Hanazaki-san could speak English - and he did it well enough injecting a sense of humor into everything, for which I was grateful. Where was the stereotype of the stiff, no-nonsense Japanese? Not anywhere in Japan that I had seen yet!
So... I picked up every food stuff that looked familiar... bottle of Coke... milk... Kellogg's Corn Flakes... eggs, bacon and baked beans... and Chef Boyardee spaghetti and meatballs. I bought dry spaghetti, a tin of tomato sauce and minced meat that I would use to make meatballs....
And I was satisfied.
Back home, I soon realized had no idea how to make spaghetti and even less of an idea how to make the meat bind to make proper meatballs. After a miserable dinner, I ate breakfast for dinner and cereal for breakfast. But I had only bought enough for three days.
And so... on the ninth day of being in Japan (the 6th in Ohtawara), I decided I needed to leave my apartment and walk out to the local Iseya. That's where I had gone with the office and that's where I would shop. I sort of knew the way, as I passed it once being driven to the office by my bosses.
I walked there because my bicycle was built for someone about a foot smaller than me (my predecessor on the Programme), and my knees kept hitting the handle bars. It was also red with a pink basket, and despite me knowing I wasn't gay, I didn't think anyone else in this country realized that... and besides... since I had not yet slept with a woman, I had no proof I wasn't gay either.
Twenty minutes after leaving my apartment... I arrived at Iseya, smile permanently etched on my face... I walked in through the doors - holding it open for a woman who bowed deeply as she walked out with her load of groceries... and entered.
I spent a few seconds orienting myself and grabbed a shopping cart and proceeded towards the grocery aisles... and holy crap... if I wasn't already paranoid, I was well on my way... because it felt like the entire place suddenly became quiet - the music stopped - and everyone turned to stare at me.
In reality, after the panic died down a degree, it was only a few shoppers glancing at me... smiling and bowing in respect or greeting, and continuing on their merry shopping way.
I still had no concept of shopping. Combine that with the fact that I also had no concept of what the exchange rate was, so I had no idea what I was actually spending in Canadian dollars - even though I only had Japanese Yen on me... some $1000-worth of cash - a gift from my dad to help me get through until my first paycheck in a few weeks time.
So... I bought as much food as that shopping cart could handle... but everything I recognized... I dared not try anything new... I was new in this country and while I knew I would be subject to a lot of experimentation, it would not be at the expense of my tongue... my bread and butter, if you will.
I bought bread, cans of corned beef, butter, peanut butter, jams, orange marmalade, soups, Captain Crunch - this is Japan? - bananas, one apple - why was it so huge?, one pear - why was it round and so huge?, grapes - why am I buying fruit? Milk... but it looks like chocolate milk (turns out it was actually green tea and made the Captain taste like soggy seaman... multiple bottles of Coke... cookies... more milk, eggs, bacon, was that baked beans? Yes! And then... cup of noodles... Yes!...
I got cocky and started looking at every single item on the shelf and I realized that when you take the time to look at the graphics on the packaging - you still have no fricking idea of what is inside because at that time at least, Japan's packaging was less that useful.
I picked something up... stared at it... and shrugged my shoulders and put it in my overflowing cart. The woman beside me, bowed deeply to me... looked at my cart... looked at me... picked up that can... and said in perfect English - "Whale?"
She smiled at my confusion... bowed deeply and then put the can back up on the shelf and walked away.
That's when I realized that here in Japan... even if I was going to embarrass myself, they weren't going to let me.
Although... my 30,000 food bill (that's about $370 Cdn in 2012) was actually a lot of food... and I still had to carry the nine bags back home. On foot. Those damn 2-liter bottles of Coke were heavy! At least the cashiers/bag boys double-bagged everything!
Did I mention that my fridge was only 3-feet (1-meter) tall? I learned after that to only purchase enough food for three days at a time or less. I had bought enough food for a month... with most of it spoiling after a week.
Somewhere learning that Iseya doesn't have music playing at their store,
Andrew Joseph
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